Journey
by Singe1
Summary: A child is found in the world of David Eddings, around the time of the journey from Faldor's farm. What relationship will form between the companions, and what will it yield? An amazing turnpoint is discovered. Will darkness fall forever into the fabled W


Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I don't own any of David and Lee Eddings' characters, and am not making any monitary profit out of this. 

Rating: PG-13, because that's how I think it ought to be rated. 

Author's last-minute note: Have fun reading it. 

She plowed through the forest, ducking under low branches and jumping over the brush where it came. What she was running from, she did not know. She simply ran and ran, stopping whenever she was too tired to go on, or to eat whatever she could find. This forest was dark and scary, and cold. The snow was piled in drifts, and she stayed on the trails that had merely a few inches on them. Her soft leather shoes were worn from almost a year of travel, and her woolen overalls were thin and coarse. She had no idea which direction she was going, or what she might find. It did not even occur to her to be afraid of the gentle call. It pulled at her in a steady tug, always in the same direction it seemed. Once in a while, it would turn her to go around something. Her home, Mallorea, was a fond memory in her mind, as she traveled through the country she knew to be Ulgo territory. Soon, if the call did not vary its direction again, she would reach the Algarian Plains, a vast grassland with cattle and horses. Then she would have to be very careful of not being seen, or they might ask some questions that could be a little difficult to answer. Some people just couldn't ask too many questions. As she burst out of the mountain area and the weather began to turn startlingly warm, she saw the country of the Algars. It was quite beautiful, she thought. Rolling green hills and tall grass gave it a comfortable feeling of continuity. She walked down the hill and entered the plains. It was not long before she came in contact with a herd of cows. Before she could duck, a lone horseman, tall and dark-haired, saw her. He rode down and stopped a short distance away, scrutinizing. All the man saw was a small girl in tattered overalls and worn shoes, the hair which reached down to her knees was a strange moon color, glinting silver in the sun and tied into a thick braid with wisps blowing across her face. The eyes, large and curiously slanted, were an icy blue, giving them a piercing quality. The rider seemed a little taken aback as it searched the horizon for parents, or perhaps older siblings. 

"Are you alone out here?" 

The girl thought a moment before answering carefully. It would not do to leave any doubts. 

"I'm alone, yes. I'm heading somewhere." 

The man looked a little confused, then gestured to her. 

"Are you murgo?" 

"No." 

"Your eyes are slanted." 

"I have no murgo blood." 

He shrugged and looked at her more closely. 

"You've been traveling?" 

She nodded and looked down at herself. 

"For a year, or so. I come from Mallorea." 

He looked startled. 

"Mallorea? But that's on the other side of the world." 

"That's why it took a year to get here." 

He shrugged and patted his saddle. 

"You'd best come with me little one. King Cho-Hagg could best settle this. I'm just a scout." 

She shifted on her feet, a little nervous. 

"Come on. I won't bite." 

"It's not that," she blurted. "Horses make me nervous. I've never ridden one before." 

The tall man looked amused, but his black leather and sharp eyes made him look fierce. 

"I won't let you fall off." He extended his hand to her. After a moment's hesitation, she took it. He pulled her up behind him and they started off, presumably in the direction of the fabled stronghold of the Algars. After a mile, she began to ask him the inevitable questions: the terrain, the horses, the cattle, what the king was like, that sort of thing. 

"You don't have to squeeze me in two." 

"Oh, sorry." She relaxed her arms from the death-grip she had on his waist. 

"King Cho-Hagg is the King of the Algars, and he is a good king." 

"He is fair?" 

"Of course." 

"What about the queen?" 

"Queen Silar? She is the mother of Algaria." 

"She sounds nice," the girl said dubiously. 

"She is. How old are you?" 

The question was unexpected, and troubling. 

"I think I'm five." 

"You think?" 

"I've been traveling for a long time. I don't even know precisely how long, and I might have passed up a birthday, or two." 

"I see." 

"How old are you?" 

"Twenty-two." 

"That's a nice age to be."

"If you say so." 

She liked Algaria. When they crested the next hill, the fortress loomed above them, formidable. 

"Is that it?" 

"It would have to be. It's the only building in Algaria." 

"I've heard about that." 

"Let's go." 

They had halted in front of the open gates, and he dismounted, helping her down. 

"You see? That wasn't so bad was it?" 

She smiled. "I like horses." 

He winked and they went on in, escorted by what she assumed were soldiers. Her idle trip was becoming a bit more complicated than she cared to admit. The room they were led to was even more odd due to the fact that they were inside the fortress' walls. It was dark and comfortable, with a single window framed by curtains. King Cho-Hagg entered with more guardsmen, with a woman on his arm, whom she assumed was Queen Silar. The tall Algar bowed deeply. She stared at him, then back at the king and queen. She tried to imitate him, but it didn't turn out too well. The Queen nodded to her gravely, and King Cho-Hagg waved irritably. 

"There's no need for that Hettar. You are my son, after all." 

She started and stared at the tall man. He had never told her his name, but then again she'd never asked. She shrugged and turned and bowed to him too, just for good measure. She had no idea about what to do around royalty, so she just stood there while Prince Hettar talked in his deep, quiet voice. 

"I was, as you know, watching the southern herd, when this girl walked up. She claims to come from Mallorea, and says she is five." 

The king was obviously startled at that. 

"Mallorea?" 

He turned and looked at the small girl. 

"That's a long ways away, little one." 

"Yes, I know. It took me a year just to get to this spot." 

"Where are you going?" 

"I don't really know. But it seems to want me to go that way," she pointed out the window to the southwest. 

"That's in the direction of the vale." 

"What's that?" 

He waved off her question, lost in thought. 

"Are you Mallorean?" 

"I don't know." 

"What do you mean, you 'don't know'?" 

"I don't know what I am. I'm not Angarak, that's all my mother told me." 

"She could be a Dal." 

Cho-Hagg shook his head. 

"No, Dals have a distinctive look to the face. She's not a Dal." 

"She looks sort of like Lady Polgara, don't you think," Silar asked. 

Cho-Hagg peered at her. 

"You know, I think you're right. She does, doesn't she?" 

Hettar started for the door. "I'll go get Belgarath and the others, father." 

Silar motioned the child to her. "Come here child, and tell me about yourself." 

The small girl shuffled forward and Silar pulled her onto her lap, wrapping her arms around her. It was a new thing to her, and she sat stiffly. 

"Don't be afraid. We just don't know why you would travel all this way, or where you are going. We know very little about you, dear." 

"I can't tell you very much." 

"Try." 

"All right." 

So she told the kindly queen and the king about her life. She didn't know her father, and her mother had died shortly after she was born. The trees had been her home, and she had not known any people. She told them about the call that had planted itself in her and told her to leave her forest and search for a place. It yearned in different directions, and she simply followed it. When Hettar returned, a company of seven followed behind him: an old man with a white beard and hair, who seemed a bit seedy, a woman with dark hair and glorious eyes, and a peculiar white lock just above her left brow, a little man with a rat face and nondescript clothing, a huge, red-haired man with a beard, another huge man with burnished armor that clanked whenever he moved and blonde hair, a man who was ordinary, yet not, with sandy hair and blue eyes, and another big man with dark hair and a gentle face, who she assumed was a Sendar. The old man looked irritated, and he looked about with a certain peevishness. She noticed that he did not bow. 

"Well Cho-Hagg, what's this about? Dragging us here in the last throes of autumn. In case you hadn't noticed, it's a little nippy outside." 

"I know Ancient One. But there is a matter I thought might require your informing." 

He looked about. 

"Well, what is it?" 

"The child here," he motioned to Silar, where the child was dozing lightly, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes fluttering every few minutes. It had been a long trip, and she only listened to the ensuing conversation with half an ear. Belgarath's voice grew hushed. 

"What is she? She doesn't look like any race I've ever seen," 

"We don't know," Cho-Hagg replied softly. "All she could tell us was that she's not Angarak." 

"That's plainly obvious," the woman's rich voice said. "How old is she?" 

"Five," Queen Silar's voice cut in. "Her parents are both dead." 

"Where did she come from?" Belgarath sounded curious. 

Cho-Hagg answered respectfully. "From Mallorea." 

"Mallorea? That's on the other side of the world," another man's voice said incredulously. 

"It would seem that way, friend Silk. Her clothes speak loudly that travel doth weigh heavily upon her small brow."

"That's the strange part," Cho-Hagg said. "She claims that a call brought her here. I think she means a sort of compulsion, but stronger." 

There was a startled silence, and the old man's voice was a trifle unsteady. 

"A compulsion? Pol, do you think..." 

"Maybe father. We should speak with Aldur about this." 

Another, younger voice cut in. 

"Wait grandfather. Our friend says that it sent her here." 

"What? Why?" 

"Wait. All right. It says that we're supposed to take her with us when we go to retrieve the orb." 

There was another stretch of silence, then the woman's rich voice again sounded. 

"Pick her up, Durnik. We'll be taking her with us." 

"Do you think that's wise, Lady Polgara? I mean it _will_ be sort of dangerous where we're going, won't it?" 

"We don't have any choice, Durnik. It's a little hard to explain, but she must come with us." 

A pair of strong arms lifted her from Silar's lap, and she was carried outside into the chill wind. While she was transferred briefly to allow the man Durnik to mount his horse, a warm cloak was tucked around her. She fought the sleepiness as long as she could, looking about with interest, although she did not move her head. These people sort of frightened her. Any people did, really, but these seemed different. They stopped in the vale, and made their way to a sort of double tower, with a bridge connecting the two. It seemed oddly right. Indeed. Everything seemed oddly right in the vale. As soon as she realized she was in no danger, she felt her eyes grow heavy, and fell asleep. 

"Oh, she is--"

"—waking up, Durnik." 

That was definitely odd. One voice started, and one voice finished. The first thing she saw as she opened her eyes was a pair of men sitting in chairs before a fireplace that had been built into the stone wall. They were saintly and kind looking, with a gentle impression. They were twins, obviously. They were almost absolutely identical.  Around every person, the little girl could see auras. Sometimes they were visions, and sometimes they were colors. Around the twin old men, there were colors: mostly blue, with a hint of white. She knew by these colors, and intuition, that these men intended good. So she smiled at them. One smiled back at her. The other was listening to Belgarath, but she got the impression that both smiled, no matter the face that represented it. In Durnik's arms, she listened once more to a conversation. 

"We don't know Belgarath. It's just too complicated a history for us to deduce anything as yet," the other twin said. 

Belgarath scratched his beard, squinting up at the ceiling in thought. "I guess there's nothing to do but try to reach Aldur," he sighed, and then looked back at the twin. "Are you sure, Beltira?" 

The one called Beltira nodded soberly. "Belkira and I have read the Mrin Codex more times than we care to admit." Then he leaned back and stared at the small girl. "The name Amradye rings a bell, but we don't remember if we heard it or read it or what."  

Belgarath tapped his finger on the arm of his centuries-old chair and spoke in an irritated voice. "That might be the Purpose involving itself again." 

Beltira leaned forward. "Maybe we aren't supposed to know what she is yet," he suggested. "Like that time that passage concerning the Rivan King did not appear to you till the day it happened." 

She suddenly felt a wrenching sorrow grip her heart and in her mind she saw a figure: a small boy of about fifteen or so years. She found she could see directly into his heart, and the sadness and confusion she felt there was heartbreaking. A sob escaped her and a name jumped into her head. "Oh, Garion. You do not know." 

The room fell into a startled silence and all eyes turned to her. Belgarath stood and his voice was carefully measured, though not angry, as she thought he surely must be. The eternal man's attention was now fixed on _her_, something she was not sure she was prepared to cope with. 

"What did you say?" 

She closed her fist around Durnik's arm, fighting the panic that clutched her unreasoningly. "I—I said that he didn't know." 

"Who doesn't know what?" His eyes were burning as he stood in front of her. She shrank into the smith, wishing he wouldn't stare at her like a wolf about to pounce. 

"Uh, Belgarath," Beltira interrupted. "Maybe you should sit down. I think you're scaring her," he advised delicately. 

He gave the girl a penetrating look, and grunted. He sat back in his chair, and started asking her questions, most of which she did not understand. 

"All right, let's start with the obvious things. Tell me what you said, exactly." 

She told him. 

"All right. What doesn't Garion know?" 

"I don't know." 

He blinked. "But you just said--"

"Well, I know that he doesn't know that he really isn't alone in the world. After he was grown enough to understand words, no one told him who his relatives were. His only connection by blood was his Aunt Pol, or so he believed." She sighed, and then a funny feeling went through her nose, and something warm and wet trickled down her cheek. "After finding out that his Aunt Pol was really Polgara the Sorceress, he thought that must mean she was not really his aunt at all." Amazed, she put her hand to her face, thinking she was bleeding. However, when she pulled it away, it had only water on it. "What happened? Is my hair wet?" 

Belgarath's face twitched and then he smiled in faint amusement. "You mean you don't know what tears are?" 

She shook her head, dumbfounded. "No. What are they?" 

Belgarath leaned forward and fixed her with his stare. "It's what happens when you feel sad, or when you're hurt, or when you are very happy. Do you understand?" 

"I think so. It's very inconvenient isn't it?" 

He laughed. "Sometimes young one, sometimes." 

"Have you ever made tears?" 

He looked uncomfortable and coughed embarrassedly. "Well, yes. I suppose I have." 

She sighed and wriggled out of Durnik's arms onto the stone floor, again reminded that she did not wear shoes. Those had been lost in the forest. She looked about curiously. The room was large and comfortable, and it was filled with the people she had seen in the stronghold. The rat-faced man was standing by the window, talking to the red-bearded giant. The knight was sitting in a chair near the strong Sendarian smith. A young man stood near Belgarath and his daughter Polgara, and stared at her with an expression of puzzlement and embarrassment. He endured her gaze for almost two minutes before looking away quickly. Again she felt that heart-wrenching sorrow, and moved towards the little man near the window. She liked his nose and face. Rather hesitantly, she edged over to the man, who still was talking to the bearded man in a hushed voice. They both looked serious, so she did not interrupt, but merely stood there while Belgarath and the rest talked about her, and someone else she did not know named 'The Purpose.' As the wiry little man ceased his talking with a sigh, she slipped her hand into his. He started, then looked down at her. She got the feeling he did not understand what she was trying to do. However, she was lonely and he was the smallest next to her, so she tightened her grip and edged even closer. Red beard chuckled. 

"Better watch it Silk; she seems to like you." 

"I'm sure it'll wear off, Barak. Children don't always know what they get themselves into." 

Barak leaned down towards her, his voice deep and his eyes twinkling. 

"Did you know that your new friend is a spy?" 

She shook her head and blurted out the first thing that popped into her head. 

"Are you a giant?" 

The big man laughed uproariously and Silk chuckled. "No, Barak isn't a giant. He might be as tall as a tree, but he's not a giant. But he is a Cherek, and that's about as close as any man can get." He gave Barak a wink, which sent him off laughing again. She smiled warmly and put the man's hand against her cheek. "That's good. I'm scared of giants, and it would have been awkward because I like Barak." 

Silk smiled and glanced meaningfully at Barak. Polgara watched them, a mysterious smile hovering about her lips, and her eyes a deep blue color. 


End file.
